


Courting Trouble (The High Theater Remix)

by fleete



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/pseuds/fleete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine has always fancied himself as having a theatrical flair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courting Trouble (The High Theater Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thursday_Next](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Trouble With Courting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/207610) by [Thursday_Next](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next). 



> _The Trouble with Courting_ is a fic as adorable as a basketful of kittens, and when I read it, I couldn't help but think, "Gwaine ships it. Gwaine ships it _hard_." And thus was born this fic. Yay!

Gwaine realizes his friends need help rather early on in their acquaintance. There’s Merlin, who is obviously in love with Arthur. There’s Lancelot, pining away for Gwen in a fit of stoic melodrama. And there’s Gwen, who looks at Lancelot like he’s got a cock made of gold. So to speak. Except Gwen seems to be on the straight path toward marriage and babies with Arthur, and Arthur, unfortunately, really does seem fond of Gwen. It’s all very tragical and tangle-y, like a bard song. So, Gwaine has done his friendly duty by taking both Merlin and Lancelot out for ale and women. Not that either of them have taken Gwaine up on his offers; Gwaine has had to entertain two buxom women by _himself_ on more than one occasion. But the point is. Gwaine has plied Merlin and Lancelot with ale for commiseration purposes, because there was nothing else to be done, and when there is nothing to be done, a good man gets his friends sloshed enough to forget it.

Recently, though—and by recently, Gwaine means in the last hour, while sitting in this tavern and listening to Arthur spout nonsense about Merlin being in love with Gwen—it has occurred to Gwaine that his friends might need a different sort of help.

Luckily, ale has always made Gwaine exceedingly skilled at counting, and Gwaine calculates that there are three duty-bound saints (Gwen, Merlin, and Lancelot), two pining saps (Lancelot and Merlin), and one mistaken, oblivious fool (Arthur), all adding up to four star-crossed lovers who keep trying to combine themselves in the wrong order. (Although Gwaine could stand to hear some more about the short-lived tryst of Merlin and Lancelot. Merlin may claim it never happened, but Gwaine has spent considerable time and sweaty energy imagining the details.)

The _point_ is. The point is. Gwaine is momentarily distracted by his drinking partner. Prince Arthur is yammering away on the other side of the table about Merlin and his poor broken heart over Gwen and how terrible it will be for Merlin to be sad, because—

“I just don’t think I could bear the look on his face if he—” Arthur flaps his hands to indicate the desperate future shape of Merlin’s face.

Gwaine snorts into his drink. Earlier in the night, Arthur had been clear-headed enough to sound aloof, but now that he’s in his cups, his obsessive concern for Merlin’s well-being is starting to smack of love. And perhaps a wee bit of jealousy? It has opened a whole new world of possibilities for Gwaine to contemplate.

Gwaine once saw a performance of a similar love story by a traveling theater troupe in which one of the lovers was played by a fluffy sheepdog. Who, if Gwaine’s being fair, had wonderful comedic timing.

 _There’s_ a thought. These four young things are obviously in need of some directorial overview—someone to plan out the action.

Gwaine has always fancied himself as having a theatrical flair.

*

“Lancelot! My dear friend!”

Lancelot raises an eyebrow and doesn’t pause in his walk. “The last time you called me ‘dear friend,’ you wanted me to pay your gambling debts.”

“And you did!” Gwaine claps him on the back. “I feel I should repay you.”

“What—” Lancelot looks down at the helpful hand Gwaine has placed upon his elbow. “Why are you dragging me?”

“I’m guiding you. Off we go, to do friendly friend things.” 

“And where are we going?” Lancelot squints up at the sky as they pass out the front doors of the castle into the courtyard.

“I’m going to repay you. With drink. Oh, will you look at Guinevere heaving those water buckets, the exertion really makes her cheeks—” But apparently that is all he has to say, for Lancelot is already hurrying forward to pluck the buckets from her hands.

Gwen looks up at Lancelot like he’s just slain a dragon at her feet, and then there’s hand-kissing and eyelash-fluttering, but the absolute, perfect thing about it all is Arthur, standing up on the ramparts, looking down at them.

“And scene!” Gwaine announces with a flourish of his cape.

Some passing soldiers eye him disdainfully, but the hell with them, this is _art_.

*

The next few bits require some backstage assistance in the form of a skinny servant boy named Dax who alerts him of the Prince’s comings and goings. The lad’s not the sharpest sword in the armory, though, and Gwaine almost misses a crucial scene when the boy tells him too late that Arthur has gone to see Gwen in her cottage. He has to sprint all the way out of the citadel, getting there just in time to hear, in Arthur’s pompous tones:

“…I don’t think you will be best happy with me. I don’t think I’m the one in love with. I think that you love somebody else.”

Gwaine is then too busy preforming a spontaneous jig to hear the next part, but stops himself when he hears Arthur mention Merlin’s name.

“What? No, you don’t understand,” Arthur says. “Merlin loves you!”

“I really don’t think it’s me that Merlin’s in love with,” Gwen says. “Maybe you should just go talk to Merlin, sire.”

Dear, sweet Guinevere sounds as if she’s addressing a particularly slow puppy, which makes Gwaine giggle, but then he hears Arthur’s footsteps, and he has to run for it.

He makes it halfway back to the castle when he sees Dax again, fetching some water, and Merlin, lugging a shovel into the stables. Perfection.

“Dax! I want you to stand here at the corner and when you see the prince, go walking by him slowly. Then, ask him if he needs anything, and tell him that Merlin is in the stables.”

Dax’s brow goes down in consternation, but he nods in agreement.

*

Part of the knight’s code is about self-sacrifice.

Merlin is mucking out Llamrei’s stall, his strong back and shoulders working with every lift of the shovel, his shirt sticking dark under his arms and down his spine, and oh, the next part of Gwaine’s plan is rife with danger, but ‘tis a sacrifice that Gwaine must give. Knightly duty, long live the king, whatnot.

“Oof!” Merlin says when Gwaine presses him up against the wall.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Gwaine croons. “Have I ever mentioned how fetching you look with horse dung on your knees?”

Merlin’s mouth quirks up. “All of the stable-related lines in the world, and you go with dung?“ 

Gwaine can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. He really is a charming man, Merlin is, with his wit and loyalty and great, blinking eyes.

“I probably would have gone a different direction,” Merlin says, shoulders relaxing. “Something about a roll in the hay. Or, ‘I’ll be your stallion if you’ll be my mare,’ that sort of thing.”

Gwaine is still laughing when he kisses him, and it makes for sweet, vibrating kind of kiss that lasts all of one shining moment before Merlin pushes him firmly back.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine, I can’t. I just can’t.”

Merlin’s lips are wet. Gwaine doesn’t even have to feign his regretful sigh.

“Well, you can’t blame a man for trying.” Gwaine gives his head a shake and reminds himself why he’s here. He catches Merlin’s eye. “Although if you’re holding out for Arthur, you’ll have a long wait.”

“I’d wait forever,” he says simply. As if he were commenting upon a plain fact: the sun will come up tomorrow.

Gwaine really, really hopes that Arthur was around to hear that, the thick-headed bastard. “You poor kid. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I don’t care.”

Gwaine sighs. “You really have got it bad.” All right. It’s time to speed up the climax. Gwaine smiles winningly at Merlin. “Sure you don’t want someone to take your mind off him?”

There’s a rustle behind him. _Finally_. Hoping that it’s not a wayward stableboy, Gwaine swoops forward and applies his palm to Merlin’s thigh.

“Argh!” Ah yes, there’s the danger part. Gwaine finds himself quite suddenly upon his back, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Get your hands off him! He said no.” Arthur’s got red splotches high on his cheeks, and his feet are still set in a defensive stance. 

Gwaine is a genius. “You heard that bit, then?”

“Arthur, what are you _doing_?” Merlin interjects.

“Merlin, go home.”

“But—”

“ _Now_ ,” Arthur roars, and Merlin obeys. Completely uncalled for. How does he expect to woo Merlin when he’s yelling at him, honestly?

Arthur rounds on Gwaine. “You, I don’t want to see for at least the next month. Find yourself a tavern somewhere and don’t go near Merlin again, or…”

“Or what?” Gwaine says, sitting up and making fists around handfuls of prickly straw. “You ever hear the expression ‘dog in the manager,’ Arthur? You don’t want him but no one else can have him either? Did you ever stop to think whether any of this is fair on Merlin?”

Arthur’s shoulders droop a little before rolling back into a straight line. “He didn’t want your attentions.”

“No, he wanted _yours_. You were listening at the door there, you heard well enough.” Gwaine sees Arthur open his mouth to argue again, but he is done with this scene, and subtlety is overrated. “The boy’s head over heels in love with your royal pratness, and you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed!”

Arthur gapes like a fish, before spinning on his heel and flouncing out the door.

All in all, Gwaine thinks that went splendidly.

*

“Sir Gwaine!”

“Dax!” Gwaine claps him on bony shoulder. “How goes your night, lad?”

“You asked me to keep you apprised, and well, the prince just sent me to fetch Merlin to his rooms. They’re in there now.”

Gwaine grins at the expression on his face. “Are they. And why, pray tell, are you blushing?”

“I—. Well, I heard—.” Dax gesticulates. “Sounds. And.”

“And?” Has the play finally moved on from tedious dialogue to action?

The poor boy sputters, scandalized, and Gwaine throws a victorious arm about his shoulders. “Do you want a drink, Dax? I think you need a drink. And a woman. Or a man! Which would you like? I’m feeling another performance coming on, and talents like mine cannot be wasted.”


End file.
